


All the thoughts had fallen out

by goldshard



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Day 4, Fantasy, Jearmin Week, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-08 15:44:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1946835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldshard/pseuds/goldshard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All his life, Jean has worked, and studied to travel to the deserts to live amongst the people there and learn. Armin just has a job to do--make sure the foreigner manages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the thoughts had fallen out

Jean stared out over the edge of the rail, over the sea, hanging onto the glimpse of land just over the horizon. Their approach was slow but steady, and he just really wanted off the boat. The biscuits he'd eaten for breakfast were heavy in his belly, like the expensive wares sitting in the hull of the ship below him.

“What are you so blue about, Kirschstein?” Someone behind him said. Jean turned around, and glanced at the captain, who had his lip curled and a sour look upon his face, somehow as per usual.

“Nothing, Captain Levi,” Jean said, “Just eager to get on land,” he said.

“You're a rotten excuse for an islander then,” the captain said in an exaggerated drawl.

Jean didn't reply, so Levi muttered to himself a moment and began to walk away, shouting out orders as the winds began to change.

Jean had trained for so many years for this opportunity, but he still felt like he was plunging in head first with nothing to catch him.

* * *

 

Jean had already seen sketches and approximations of the port city of Shiganshina before. People's voices spoke in unfamiliar tongues, a wave of it washing over him and settling into a comfortable din. Here and there he picked up words— _money, how much is this, two pounds of fish, my daughter was angry this morning_ —but most of them were just hovering somewhere beyond his reach.

There was something different from the smooth, slow words of a language teacher, and the coarse, quick words of a speaker.

The men of the ship were making work of bringing its luggage to land, but Jean had no place in this work. He stood primly on the peer, alone. He tugged a tad on his collar, watching the activities of the port. Women walked about with woven baskets balanced on their hips and babies strapped to their backs, dark veils hiding their faces. They did the days shopping, and he could imagine the gossip spilling from their lips as they saw the familiar vendors they went to every day.

There was hustle of work, and many men and women were on the pier itself getting on and off of the shipping vessels, throwing fish into the arms of waiting, eager children who did the hard and smelly work for the money it seemed to pay.

Jean had studied this culture endlessly out of books, it had seemed his whole life, but now that he was truly standing just at the fringe of it he found himself wallowing in the shock of it all.

He was startled by an accented voice invading his thoughts. “E-excuse me,” somebody said, their lips and tongue fumbling around the words, as if they'd never had use for them before. Jean turned, and was met with the gaze of a monk.

The man was smaller than he, with light skin denoting that he lived in the underground complex. He could see curls of blond hair resting on his shoulders, though his face was mostly obscured by a dark veil. “Are you the i-islanders with the.... explorer?” he asked.

“It is I am the explorer,” Jean said, allowing himself to fall into the language of the people of the desert, hesitation filling him. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth.

“Oh, I am Brother Arlert, I am a monk at the institute, you may know me as Armin,” he said, his speech picking up pace, the words rhythmic and spilling. He said something else, and Jean grasped at it for meaning, but couldn't identify it. It had just slipped through his fingers.

“I do not am understand the last, it is I am sorry,” Jean said, the words slurred out in a fumbling way. He winced at his own errors, spotting them as soon as they fell from his lips.

“I said that I will be your guide,” Armin said. Jean thought his tone friendly, he couldn't be sure.

“Oh. I see this now,” Jean said, “I can come with you now. I have no things else I must do. I just say goodbye to Captain Levi first.”

“Of course,” Armin said, “I'll lead you to the institute, get you settled in for your stay. How long is it?”

“I am stay here for one year,” Jean said, “To study language and customs. I want to write a book.” He tried not to let Armin tell how much he was squinting in the sunlight, but he finally gave in and put a hand over his brow.

They'd warned him, in school, that the sun seemed to shine brighter over the desert than in the islands, and Jean hadn't quite believed it. But now, he knew—the sand, the buildings—everything reflected the sunlight here. It was all so bright. “I brought an extra veil,” Armin spoke up, his hands digging in the pockets of his thick and baggy pants, before he pulled out a wad of fabric that looked dark and plain. “I will put it on you this time,” he said, “Just, ah, bend down, please.”

Jean got onto his knees and watched as Armin pulled the fabric apart and draped it over his hair, his fingers brushing the pool of fabric around as he fumbled with a tie, gently securing the band that circled just overtop his eyebrows and around his head. “There,” Armin said with an air of finality, and Jean bent back up and looked around. The sun still hurt his eyes, but now it was not nearly so intolerable as it had been moments before. The fabric was meshy, but did not really obscure his vision.

“It's a bit of a formal style,” Armin said, “But I did not think that you may not have brought one until the last minute, so I just grabbed an extra on my way out.”

“Of course,” Jean said, speaking slower to give more thought to the words, “Thank you, Armin,” he said. “I am happier now.”

“Ah, great,” Armin said, “perhaps we shall find this captain now so you may make your goodbyes and we can go back to the institute.”

“Yes, yes,” Jean said, looking over the port until he saw the familiar form of Captain Levi, standing over a pile of crates ordering around the seamen as they unpacked the cargo. They walked in his direction quickly, but Levi did not notice his presence, so Jean called out, “Levi?”

He turned, and looked upon the pair. “Fitting in already, eh?” the captain said, and for a moment, Jean relished the sound. It may be a year before he heard his own language again, after all.

“Thank you Captain Levi,” Jean said, dipping his shoulders in a small vow, “For allowing me to join your crew the past few weeks.”

“Well, I can't say you were very useful,” Levi said callously, “But I hope you have a nice year here. Dedicate your book to me.”

“Of course, Captain Levi,” Jean said, “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Kirschstein.”

They walked off the peer and through the marketplace. The further they got into it, the less Jean understood his surroundings. He discovered, to his abject misery, that he could no longer read the language—perhaps he'd only possessed the ability when presented with neat, careful calligraphy, and not the messy scrawl of the real world.

He let Armin hold on to his hand, and noticed quickly how handsy people here seemed to be. So much had already been left out, he realized. Men of the marketplace would grab his shoulders without much forethought, women would slink up and touch his face, saying, “Are you lost?” before Armin would tug his arm a little harder and walk a little faster.

They landed on streets deeper in the city that were no less crowded, but somehow more at ease. He couldn't keep track of where they were anymore, his mental map turning into a huge scribble with a question mark in the middle. Finally, Armin took him to the steps of a building and inside, and then, only then was he greeted with what he had always found the most interesting about the people of the desert—the underground complexes.

The building dropped quickly into a below ground platform, the steps were steep and narrow, and Jean took his time on them. Armin was patient with him, and even walked backwards before him, grasping Jean's hips after Jean had slipped a first time and let out a rather, well, undignified squeak.

When they reached the bottom, Armin flipped over his veil, and only then did Jean realize this was the first he'd seen of the mans face. He had strong eyebrows, and large blue eyes. Jean forced his gaze away and folded over the front of his veil in the same way as Armin reached into his pockets and pulled out a sack of money, pushing coins into someone's palms and speaking too quickly for Jean to catch a word. Before Jean knew it, he was being helped into a narrow canoe.

“Hold tight,” Armin said simply, as he took a paddle and stood on a platform, gently pushing the boat onto a current of the underground river.

As the light flickered out, Jean realized that this was it—this was what he'd always dreamed off. This was what he'd worked so hard for—what had sparked his interest as a child. The river system below the desert.

His eyes protested from the harsh change of blinding sunlight to darkness, but soon enough, his thoughts from before returned, and he waited for it: soon, he could register it—the glowing iridescence of the river. He could help the sharp break he took in, and Armin looked back to him. Maybe that was a smile?

“Is there anything like that in the islands?” Armin asked.

“No, not at all,” Jean said, dipping his arm over the edge of the boat and skimming his fingers on the water. When he pulled them out, his fingers glowed. He couldn't help but grin.

“It is not a long trip to the institute,” Armin said, “A few minutes more, we do not stray from the path.”

“Okay,” Jean said, leaning his head over the edge of the canoe to observe the water. The rivers were not very deep below the desert, ten feet at most, but they flowed fresh water and plants grew in them, weedy things and moss and some small, blind fish swam about. Reflecting on it, he couldn't imagine how some deserters lived almost exclusively off of these things, but he knew they were there.

Further in the caves, further in the continent, there were bands of families who took on oasises and could stay there for decades, maybe centuries, never taking more than they needed. He hoped he would have a chance to meet some of such people during his year here.

The boat jerked a little, and Armin cursed, but soon the iridescence went away and he found himself within a small lit cavern. There was less activity here, but three young women hurried in and pulled the boat along the platform, tying it on. As soon as Armin and Jean were out of the vessel, the girls hauled the boat onto the platform. “Brother Arlert,” they said respectfully, and then they each turned to eye Jean.

Jean fidgeted a little under their gaze. They were each tall, well-muscled women, but they had a greyish quality to their skin, similar to Armin, that came from living in the underground complexes. Their hair was long and curly, and they were all also impressively busty, wearing none for clothes but breast bands on their upper half, and mostly translucent fabric on their legs.

“Girls,” Armin said, “This is Explorer Jean of the islands, he is to be treated with respect.”

“Of course, Brother Arlert,” one of the girls said sweetly, licking her lips. Jean instantly flushed, and was glad when Armin took him from there.

“I apologize for their behavior,” Armin bit out, “Those three sisters... Never a moment of decency.”

“It is quite fine,” Jean said, “I am not at all offended.”

Of course he had seen girls in breast bands before, but not usually so suddenly upon being acquainted with them. It was not the style in his home. Above ground, in the desert, people tended to bundle up in clothes to prevent sun burn and would endure the heat, but in the complexes below there was no sun, only steaminess come from the baking desert above their heads.

As expected, once he was lead through series of rooms and halls into the institute, many of the people were scarce for clothing, and Armin himself looked uncomfortable. “I will show you to your chambers,” Armin said. “You may change into whatever you like—we have stocked you in clothes as we were told you were bringing no luggage.”

He was led down more hallways, and Jean felt hopeless. He was entirely disoriented, and felt that never again would he regain sense of direction.

They arrived at a door, and Armin fiddled around in his pockets a moment once more before retrieving the key and unlocking the door. It cracked open, and Armin pressed the key into Jean's palm. “I will come to bring you to dinner in two hours. Tonight we are dining with the different heads of the institution, including the spiritual elders,” he said. “But we will not do this often. Do you understand what I say?”

“Yes,” Jean said, “B-but, what is it that is I should wear?” he asked.

Armin pursed his lips. “I am not often invited to these things,” he said, “But wear opaque pants, perhaps jewels on your arms. Don't wear a shirt, you will sweat.”

“Thank you, Armin,” Jean said, feeling a flush of gratitude.

“It is only my duty to you,” said Armin, giving a small stiff bow, and Jean realized it was imitation of his gesture to Levi earlier. The people of the desert did not bow.

And then Armin was gone.

* * *

 

The clothes didn't feel right on him, but Jean knew he was presenting himself to very important people this evening.

Admittedly, he knew his people's knowledge of the desert religion was poor. Faith had never really been a part of his life at home. He knew the people of the desert had a pantheon of gods, who were said to inhabit mortal bodies of the spiritual leaders. These people were called the Sho, but they were not credited with total control over lives—instead they held _sway_. Underhanded influence.

He bit his lip a moment more, and was startled by the knock on the door. He got up and opened it, eyes meeting with Armin, who was shirtless as well. His skin looked so soft... Jean banished the thought. His interests may have been acceptable, but odd at home, but he had not the slightest idea to what regard they were held here.

“Are you ready for dinner?” Armin said. Given a confirmation, Armin linked Jean's elbow with his and dragged him into the halls, down another mass of hallways, finally pulling him into a dining room. The table was long and already crowded, but many were still sanding about. The food and drink was untouched. Armin pointed out a chair to Jean, and they both sat down, Armin right beside him.

Armin spoke nothing, instead he stared at the rim of the plate, which was plated with gold. Jean recognized the style—this was imported from the islands, the sort of wares Levi carried back and forth across the seas.

A clap at the head of the table brought the whole room to attention, and all those who had been standing filed to sit in their seats. Jean identified the source of the clap, a large man with heavy eyebrows. “Before we eat,” he said, “I feel we should all introduce ourselves to our newest resident,” he said. Jean kept his face stony, and sat up straight in his seat. The man at the head of the table spoke again, this time saying, “My name is Erwin Smith, I am the director of our institution here.”

Jean exchanged polite greetings with the man, and then the woman next to him spoke, her feather light voice informing him that she was the carrier of the Goddess of Children. It continued in much the same pattern, and few names or faces seemed to stick out to him. He made an effort to recognize each face.

By the time every member of the party introduced themselves, Smith had not yet given any indication it was time to eat. They all sat stick straight in their seats, and then Smith spoke again, “Will you not introduce yourself, and talk about your schooling? It is better to hear than it is to read.”

“Ah, hah, yes, Mr. Smith...” Jean said, forcing his tongue to say the words. “I, ask you forgive me please, I am learning still your language. I apologize.”

“No forgiveness needed,” a woman spoke up, Jean remembered her, she carried the God of Direction, and the woman went on, “We all understand it is a difficult change.”

“I am Jean Kirschstein,” Jean said, “I am twenty eight years old. I am studied for ten years at the public university in the capital of the islands.”

“You are well learned then, tell me, what brings you here?” Smith asked.

“I want to write book about desert people. Tell story of living life with them. Our books at home are bad, they are scattered and old and contradictory. I am wanting to write a better book.”

“To writing,” Erwin said. “Let's eat.”

* * *

 

“Okay,” Armin said, “strip.”

Jean didn't bother with embarrassment. He took off his sleep clothes and stood nude before Armin, who didn't bat an eyelash. Armin first handed him the pants, which Jean was eager to put on, and then Armin started to put the jewelry on him, necklaces and cuffs and bands. Armin made a strange sound, pinching Jean's ear. “We should pierce them,” he said.

“No, I am not allow this, I am not like it,” Jean said firmly, batting Armin's hand away.

“Fine then,” Armin said, handing him a veil, “Put this on, I'm gonna see if we have anything for your eyes here...”

Jean took the garment, and to his dismay, found it was not like the ones he'd worn before. The fabric of it was looser, almost like netting. He tried to figure out where the tie was, to put it on his head. Finally locating it, he tried to put it on, only to get his hands irreversibly caught in the veil. “Armin,” he whined, “help me.”

“I can't trust you with anything,” Armin said, turning to see Jean, the black liner in his hands. He put the liner down on the table and moved to help Jean with the veil, easily pulling it out of his hands and untangling Jean's mess. He tied it on, and explained that this veil was only decorative, and not meant to cover his face. Slowly, he pinned the long, falling material into the ruffles it was supposed to take, using hooks Jean hadn't even seen woven into the fabric. “I don't think,” Armin said in Jean's language, “Treat you as common person of oasis. I don't think. Are foreigner.”

He pinned one last ruffle on Jean's shoulder, his hands backing away a second before he hesitantly touched Jean's chest, his finger pressing along the smooth, but hard curve of muscle. Jean took a quick, shallow breath. As quickly as the moment begun, it was over, and Armin backed away a heavy blush filling his cheeks as he apologized.

Jean furrowed his brow. “I am not understand. Why are you touch me?”

Armin somehow blushed more furiously. “I just, uh, well, um...” He picked up the liner from the table again and grasped with his hands. “Just be quiet.”

Jean frowned, but decided to hold his tongue as had been requested, as Armin pulled on the skin around his eyes, and made a frustrated noise. “Sit down on the bed,” Armin said, “Just, ah, not the edge.”

Jean complied wordlessly, sitting in the middle of the bed. Armin climbed on the bed, and straddled himself over Jean's legs, folding his legs to frame Jean's abdomen. “Tilt your head forward, just a little,” Armin said, “and keep your eyes open.”

Slowly, Armin reached out with the stone and spread the black over the edge of Jean's eye. Jean forced himself not to blink, instead focusing his mind upon memorizing every detail of Armin's face. Armin was so close to him at this moment, he could feel the rise and fall of Armin's breath as he finished one eye, swooping the liner out over the end in some kind of frill, and then moving on to the second eye, which he seemed to finish much more quickly, or maybe time just wasn't frozen for Jean anymore.

“Okay,” Armin said. “Let's get you to Smith.”

* * *

 

A few evenings later, Armin came to see Jean, and after exchanging drab greetings, Armin said, “Do you wanna pack up a picnic for dinner, and go up and eat it on the desert?”

“Yes,” Jean agreed. He hadn't been above the ground since he'd gotten here. While the facilities were well kept (the desert people had been eager to import electrical lighting from Jean's) there was a certain gloomy dankness to the whole place that Jean felt like he couldn't escape.

Jean dressed and Armin returned soon afterward with some food wrapped up in a bag slung over his shoulders.

They walked down to the docks once more, this time, thankfully lacking the three girls. Jean helped Armin to guide the boat down a series of rapids, slowly growing more used to the underground river and its movements. It was not a short trip, only five minutes upstream, (it would take longer to get home, Armin said) and they pulled the boat up to a ledge and hoisted it upon it.

Armin took the food and felt around until he found a narrow passageway in the side of the stone. Slowly, the two made their way up the steep slope, taking heavy, anxious breaths as they did so. It was almost entirely dark, having not quite yet reached the sun and having left behind the iridescence of the water.

“We're almost there,” Armin suddenly spoke, and a few steps later the ground evened out, although it was still mostly dark. Armin reached back, and took hold of Jean's hand, starting to lead him out.

Jean was glad it was dark, because he was pretty sure he was red head to toe. There was just something ridiculous about that cute, intelligent, interesting, and untouchable boy. Dammit.

Armin's grip was strong, and tight, his hands a little sweaty. His fingers were shorter than Jean's, and thinner. But then, it was over. Armin's hand fell, and they walked into the light.

Jean felt blinded for a moment. The sun felt horrible, pounding into his head. They stepped out of a small cave complex into what seemed like the truest middle of nowhere Jean had ever encountered.

It was like he could see nothing for miles, when he final started to be able to see again. Armin smiled at him, and started to sit down, spreading out their food around him. “Come on, come eat,” Armin said sweetly, patting down a spot next to him. He'd packed only things he knew Jean would eat, which became evident very fast. Jean took a large bite into something slippery he always forgot the name of, looking at the sky. It was so odd to see it again, it was like being at home in the islands, seeing a clear blue cloudless sky.

“I wanted to leave the institution,” Armin said, taking a bite of his food after. He continued, “It just gets so crowded in there sometimes, you know? It's stifling.”

“At my home in the islands I live alone. It is strange to live with so many people. I am never lived in place like this before,” Jean sad.

“I hadn't until I had to,” Armin said. “I was born at one of the oasises. But I had to go to the institution when I was 14.”

“How old are you, anyways? I am never asked.”

“I'm 19,” Armin said, “I know, it must seem young to you.”

“No, age does not matter to me,” Jean said, “Mind does. Thought. _Intellect._ ” he said, saying the last word in his native language. “Why are you leave your oasis?”

“It flooded,” Armin said. “Just, a flash flood one evening. Me and my two friends were playing at a ledge further up from the oasis, near a passageway to a different river. Suddenly, everything was flooding. People were crying, screaming. We didn't know what to do, we started to cry too. It had all happened so fast.”

Armin seemed very far away. Slowly, hesitantly, Jean wrapped his arm around Armin's shoulders, Armin leaning in a little bit closer to him. Armin spoke on, “One of the men had been climbing the ledge when it began. He saw us, and took us by our hands and ran. He took us through the passage, and we walked and walked until we found a mooring with boats, and told them our story. I don't know how long we walked to get there.” He paused a moment, contemplating. “The people at the mooring took us to the city you arrived at, and we were processed. I was placed in the institution here, but my friends were put at an institution in another city. We write letters, but we haven't seen each other.”

Armin was quiet a moment. Jean rubbed circles into his back. “I am sorry,” Jean said. “I cannot imagine living through something like that.”

“I hope you never do,” Armin said carefully, looking pensively over the great piles of sand. “You know, Jean, I wanted to tell you something.”

“You did?” Jean said, looking at Armin, unsure of what Armin was getting at.

“I feel... Really safe with you,” Armin said, “Which is funny, because, technically, I'm the one who's protecting you, you know? On paper. But like... When I'm around you, I feel like things are gonna work out. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“Yes,” Jean said, “I know what you mean,” he went on. “I feel, comfortable with you. When I am here I feel alone and scared. I am not know how things work, people speak with me and think I am stupid. It is upsetting. You do not treat me like this, and you do not scare. I like to be with you. I think they make a very good choice, having you help me.”

Armin scooted closer to Jean, and wrapped his arms around his torso. Jean took in a sharp gasp but couldn't help but to smile and look down. Armin was shyly peeking up at him, his cheeks turning red. “Maybe things just work out that way,” Armin said, resting his head against Jean's chest.

Jean wondered how clearly Armin could hear the frantic beating of his heart, separated by skin and tendons and blood. So close.

Jean peeked down at Armin again once more, and found Armin had closed his eyes. Gently, ever so gently, he leaned down and placed his hand under Armin's chin, and he kissed him.

Armin responded immediately, kissing back and relocating himself to a better position, before finally they split away and Jean couldn't think anything at all. All the thoughts had fallen out of his head. All he could do was blink and stare at Armin, wallowing in the realization that he had just kissed this angel.

“Do, do you think...” Jean said tentatively, “We could do that again some time?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is kindly being published by my friend janarru since I'm at camp during jearmin week. THANK YOU JANARRU. 'Verse is based off of original stories of mine, if you'd like to read some stuff taking place in the same 'verse without snk characters, comment!


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